They flew back. Quasilliaro’s head hit the ground, and Ajax sat on his chest and buried his fist in the man’s face before he could even make a sound.
Feola made a sharp strangled sound, covering her mouth and scrambling toward the knife that clattered across the floor.
He should probably reach for her, help her, but his hands were a mess, still buried in an imploded face.
On a space station with fabricated gravity, Quasilliaro hadn’t needed the same kind of metallic implants they used on Argentus to mimic bone structure. His shitty doctor had used sheet aluminum. It was enough for a man who intended to live his life on a space station, surrounded by armed guards. But not thick enough to stand up to the fist of an enraged warrior.
His stomach heaved. He flexed his fingers, lurching to his feet.
His whole life, he’d saved people. Stayed up late, sat by their sides, held their hands, fought for their lives.
He and Feola needed to go.
Gray matter mixed with red blood on a floor the color of the Argenti sun.
“Did you j—”
Banging sounds came from the doorway.
“Don’t look.”
The guards were running toward them, moving fast, weapons raised.
“Hold on to me.”
He grabbed the codes from the man’s desk with slippery fingers, and a single glance told him they were fakes. The ugly bastard had been playing him all along.
He wrapped an arm around Feola, pulling her against him and wrapping his legs around one leg of Quasilliaro’s desk. He raised his rezal and fired it at the wall of glass separating them from certain death.
It happened in slow motion. The rezal blasted out, deafeningly loud. The glass melted around the hole, shattering into a hundred broken shards, sucking out as if pulled by a thousand invisible strings. The guards, running past the broken glass, lifted into the air. Loose chairs, papers from Quasilliaro’s desk—all of it lifted up as the pressurized air sucked into the great vacuum of space.
“Take a breath,” he shouted.
It wasn’t far. Two or three long steps toward the door, but the air was moving wind-tunnel fast. The traction of his boots and a hard kick off the desk let him get a hand around the slim depression of a handle, to wrench the door open.
He pushed her through, yanking the door shut behind him.
Thank every god in the universe, there was a locking hatch on the other side. Whatever automated system this part of the space station had been outfitted with in its past, evidently it had broken or been overridden. He sealed it manually, locking the breach on the other side of the door. He just prayed the three-eyed secretary on the other side thought quickly enough to contain the explosion.
15
Running blind.
Feola’s time with Utto had been bad, but she’d learned one valuable thing from him. She’d learned how to shut off her mind and go somewhere else, somewhere he couldn’t touch. When her life with him had become unendurable, she’d found this little faraway corner of her mind that functioned like an off switch. She flipped it. Shut it down, absconded to a place beyond him, beyond fear or pain or worries. A place that was all her own.
A place where she was free. She’d always thought of it as Feola’s Place. It was full of sunshine and birdsong and flowers. No one else ever got there. She went there now. Shut away all the fear and focused on one thing. Getting out of there alive. With Ajax.
Thanks, Utto, you sick, sadistic bastard.
“Go,” Ajax shouted over the roar.
And she did.
She ran, Ajax right behind her, and Utto buzzing frantic across the Bond. He was worried. About her?
Shouts echoed down the long hallway in which they found themselves. A service hallway, maybe. Endless blackness, punctuated by small bursts of light. Black shapes scurried in the darkness. Roaches.
Ajax grabbed her arm and pulled her to the right, down another hallway.
They ran. Sirens wailed in their ears, drowning out the ability to think. Which was a blessing. No time to analyze the similarities between the scene with Ajax’s possessive, appraising hand on her hip and Rennie’s on her breast. Burned in for all eternity.
Down another hallway.
Down a stairwell. And the sirens wailed on.
And another.
And another.
How many had it been? Three, four? She couldn’t be sure. They’d be lost in the space station for certain. But at least the dead man, all his guards, and the broken world of his office was behind them.
The wailing ricocheted off the walls, multiplying and resounding in her eardrums until her head throbbed and her stomach shuddered, and her skin broke out in chills. Ajax grabbed her arm, pausing her mid-run. She jerked to a stop, whirled to face him. She’d never hear him in the cacophony. He pointed at a circular disk in the floor, a hatch with a big cross-shaped handle.
“Down,” he mouthed.
She nodded.
Hard muscles bulged as he squatted, and after a long moment, the metal seemed to unstick, and the hatch door rotated with a grind. He lifted the hatch, and she ducked to peer through.
They were roughly ten feet above another dingy market hall, maybe even the same one they’d been in before.
She resisted the urge to cover her ears.
With a wry smile, Ajax took her hand. He hauled her body against his, pressed a fast kiss to her lips. She had the fleeting impression of his hard body against hers, his perfect Ajax smell, and then, as if she weighed nothing at all, he lifted her over the hatch.
She dangled in midair as he lowered her as far as his arm would reach, until her feet were only a couple feet off the ground. Not far.
People in the stalls turned to stare. The wailing was quieter in this hall.
He dropped her.
This time, she managed to stifle the squeal in her throat.
She plunged to nearly a squat under the power of the drop, but she kept her footing, for which she felt proud.
Holding the handle of the hatch, Ajax dropped into space, pulling the hatch closed with his body weight. He hung for a moment, feet dangling in the air, body torquing as he twisted the hatch closed, then dropped agilely to the floor.
Without pause, he tilted her chin back with a firm hand on her neck. He studied her eyes, felt her pulse. After a moment he nodded, grabbed her hand, and she followed him down the market’s central aisle. The bag with their belongings bounced on his back as he pulled her behind him.
“You okay?” he asked, over his shoulder.
He crashed into a wall of men.
Two men, even taller than Ajax and more muscled than Utto, blocked their path.
16
I need your serum.
I need you.
Feola’s mouth went dry. She looked around. Could she get to the rezal on Ajax’s hip before they stopped her?
Not a chance. And even then, she didn’t even know how to turn the blasted thing on.
“Come with us. Hurry.”
She frowned. This mess was all her fault, and it was always Ajax caught in the crosshairs. He squeezed her hand, his shoulders relaxing a fraction.
Why hurry? That made no sense unless they didn’t work for Quasilliaro. She studied them. They didn’t appear to be Vestige, as Quasilliaro’s guards had been. They looked like Argenti.
She didn’t know enough about the convoluted politics on this bizarre space station to understand what was going on, but Ajax seemed less worried as they hustled through a scarred door. In her chest, Utto seemed almost relieved, the Bond unwinding and relaxing. She resisted the desire to curl her lip at the revolting and undeniable weight of him inside her.
They walked for a long time, so long her stomach cramped, her hands sweated, and her mind clouded. Her mouth watered. She needed Ajax. She needed serum. The vials containing Utto’s rested in the bag on Ajax’s back.
Bile surged in her throat. It was as if Utto were goading her, pulsing in her chest, encouraging, almost loving. Not
a chance in hell.
Nearly an hour passed in the hidden passages, following the enormous bald guards. Finally, they exited into a wide space with amorphous walls, shiny and black. The guards led them toward a table and chairs that sparkled and glowed.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“Sit,” one of them said in a voice so gravelly she barely heard him.
“Who do you work for?” Ajax asked.
The one on the left, whose face was more square shaped and whose eyes were less black, grunted. “Sit. Shepherd will be in shortly.”
Ajax sighed and pulled out a chair for her. The walls reminded her of flower petals, sinuously curved, molded and shining wetly under low lights. Occasionally the tone of the black lessened and drifted toward colors, dark blue, deep purple. Wherever they had entered, she couldn’t see any seams; the doors had to be hidden within those folds.
When they both sat, the massive men backed out of the room, exiting through a rounded fold.
“You okay?” Ajax’s voice was soft.
She took a deep breath. “I’m so sorry, Ajax. This is all my fault. You should just leave me. Go back to Sierra-Six. Get your life back.”
His mouth screwed up. “My life wasn’t all that great.”
“You weren’t running for your life on this… place. Wanted by the Argenti government. If they catch you…”
“Then I’ll have been caught doing what was right. What I wanted to do. Whatever happened back there, Feola, it was wrong. You needed help. I’m here. I want to be here.”
He always said the perfect thing. He deserved so much better than her. Someone unsullied, unjaded, unmarred by the fear and hate of her Bond. She’d find some way to set him free. Some way to help him find a woman who could love him the way he deserved to be loved. When this was over, she would repay him. Somehow. But for now… she needed him too badly to even try to turn him away. If she were a stronger, better woman, maybe.
She traced her hands over the smooth surface of the table. Up close, it looked like thousands of tiny stars had been caught and imprisoned within the material. They blinked and pulsed pale and golden under her shaking fingers.
Time to face facts. “I need serum.”
He nodded, face grim, eyes sad.
His hand slid across the table to capture hers. His fingers were broad and elegant. Her belly fluttered at the contact. She leaned into him, but he stopped her motion and instead reached for the bag with the vials of Utto’s serum.
Her stomach condensed against a blast of nausea.
“No.”
Ajax frowned but pulled one out anyway.
She glowered at the thick white fluid in them and pushed his hand away, wanting the heinous temptation of the disgusting stuff as far away from her as possible. “I don’t want him. We agreed, Ajax. No more Utto.”
His face contorted in a mirthless smile. “I have no idea what will happen if I give you serum right now. If we transfer your need to me, we could go back to how it was at the beginning of your Bond.”
“So?”
“How often did you need Utto back then?”
“Every day.”
“Just once a day?”
When she nodded, he pinched the bridge of his nose and laughed unhappily. “That’s extremely unusual for an early Bond. Usually, it’s every few hours. I can’t believe I’m trying to convince you to….” He groaned. “I’ve seen couples who had to mate every three hours. It’s far more likely that my serum would do that to us than have it be just once a day. It would be a disaster right now. Can you imagine if we’re still stuck here and we have to—”
“I wouldn’t mind if it were you.”
He looked up sharply at that. “It would be damned inconvenient if we had to stop running for our lives to fuck.”
Her belly lurched, tightening and flooding with heat at the rough word and the crude intensity with which he said it. She touched his wrist, parting her lips, unsure of the words she needed, but a click from the back of the room stopped her.
A sleek black petal of a door opened, and a small man entered. Muscled, oiled, wearing nothing more than a brief strip of fabric belted around his waist, his body gleamed in the low lights. He carried a massive platter laden with food.
Ajax tracked him, body tense.
“Food.” The man lowered the platter to the table before them.
Her nipples tightened.
Ajax cast dubious eyes over the food. “How long will we have to wait?”
The small man only bowed low before exiting.
“How badly do you need it?” His words rippled in her ears, and she arched her neck.
“Utto withheld from me a few times as a punishment. I think I could make it another couple of hours if I had to.”
Ajax tilted his head back, looking up at the ceiling. “That fucking asshole.” He took her hand in his, slid his fingers up her arm, to her neck, behind her ear.
She pressed into his touch.
In the soft, warm light, his eyes were nearly purple. “You don’t feel fevered,” he murmured, moving closer so his other arm circled her back. His finger slid down over her jaw, down her throat, pressing gently against her pulse point. “Your pulse is fast.”
She was breathing fast, too, but it didn’t have anything to do with the need for serum. She leaned closer so her forehead rested against his jaw and her nose pressed against his neck. He smelled so good she sighed, rubbing her nose against his skin.
“Feola.”
“Yes?” She pulled back to look at him.
His gaze dropped to her mouth. The corner of his lips angled up, his eyes crinkling. “You still have a mustache.”
“What?” She brought her hand up to her lips and remembered the momadrac powder she’d rubbed on her upper lip.
She wiped at it, and his eyes crinkled even more. “It’s all over your cheeks now.”
The door opened again.
An Argenti man entered, with dark golden skin and long ebony hair. He wore a shimmery black suit and had a close-cut beard. His shoes echoed off the polished floor.
She moved instinctively closer to Ajax, shifting so her chair sat between his spread thighs and her shoulder pressed against his chest. His hand closed around her hip, drawing her closer.
“The illustrious pair.” A smile stretched across the strange man’s face as he approached, moving with serpentine grace. “I go by the name of Shepherd. I owe the two of you quite a big thank-you.”
“Enough of a ‘thank-you’ to get us off this place,” Ajax rumbled in her ear, voice low and velvety.
The smile stretched. “It could be negotiated.” Shepherd had a way of emphasizing words and drawing them out so they seemed to carry hidden meanings. He lowered his long body into a chair opposite them. He wasn’t an idle pusher of papers. The man moved like the warriors of the Tribe. His suit hinted at hard muscles beneath the fabric. He leaned forward and made a show of scenting the air.
Ajax growled beside her, barely audible. Little more than a disturbance of the airwaves.
She rested her hands on the table.
“The last time I smelled a female, she wasn’t free. She wasn’t in heat. She wasn’t alone in the company of only one man.” He poured himself a glass of water from the goblet, took a long sip, and sighed. “What are you? A warrior who misses knife throws?”
Ajax shrugged lazily beside her.
How did the man know about the knife throw?
“A real warrior wouldn’t have missed that throw. No. You’re something else.” His gaze burned with intensity as he scrutinized them, lingering on her hair and Ajax’s face. “More than just a healer.”
“I’m no warrior,” Ajax said, and she wanted to argue. He was a healer. But she’d seen him train back at Sierra-Six before she’d Bonded with Utto. Ajax was every bit as dangerous as any member of the Tribe.
“So those knives are just decoration?”
Ajax shrugged again. “Everyone in the Tribe carries the knives.”
“And yet, you took out Quasilliaro and his entire seat of operations. That is no mean feat.”
Ajax was silent beside her, his thumb stroking her ribcage, making it hard to focus. She wanted to turn back into his neck, suck at the skin there. She traced her hand along his thigh, drawn to him.
“You want a way off this space station?
Ajax’s nod brought his roughly stubbled jaw in contact with her temple.
Shepherd leaned back in his chair, studying her. “And yet—you are Ajax Willo. And this is the famous Feola. So valuable, this woman. I could turn her over to Upranimus. He is so very rich, you see. I could take the money, set up a business somewhere other than this miserable hellhole.”
She leaned forward. She’d learned one other thing from Utto. Men did what they wanted. This man hadn’t turned them over immediately. There was a reason.
“Then you would have,” she said, earning a curious glance from Ajax. “If you were to going to turn me over to Utto and his uncle, you’d have done it by now.”
Shepherd raised his brows and clapped his hands. “Ahhhh.” It sounded like agreement, but it might have just been an expression of curiosity.
“So what do you want with us?” she asked.
The man leaned back in his chair. As his head angled back, the light hit his eyes. They were almost amber. So unusual, flicking back and forth between her and Ajax.
She stifled the urge to whimper, or pant, or maybe just rest her head on the table and take a nap. Her stomach twisted. Five minutes alone with Ajax. That was all she needed. She dug her fingers deeper into his thickly muscled thigh, and the connection steadied her.
“How familiar are you with the politics on Pilan?”
Not familiar at all.
Ajax just shook his head.
Shepherd sighed. “There are three main political figures.”
“The three scum-kings,” she murmured.
A whisper of a smile appeared at the corner of Shepherd’s mouth.
“Correction. There were three. Now, just me. Your murder of Quasilliaro has left quite a power vacuum.”
“Where is the other?”
Shepherd leaned back in his chair, eyes sparkling, and crossed his arms behind his head. “He, too, met a rather untimely demise, off Pilan. I have slipped into his role for now. A position that is highly useful to me. One I would like to keep.”
The Breaking Page 10